


Living Arrangements

by the_painless_moustache



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek let's him move in, Fluff, M/M, Stiles sets his apartment on fire, Swearing, That's really it, and swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_painless_moustache/pseuds/the_painless_moustache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tries to make cookies and ends up setting his apartment on fire. His new neighbor from across the hall is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill, kind of. In that I reblogged a prompt on tumblr and then decided to fill it. So. Yeah.  
> Also, THERE IS AT LEAST ONE TYPO IN HERE. I saw it, but when I went to fix it, IT DISAPPEARED. I can't find it. Maybe you can.

 “Fucking—goddamn it—”

 “Stiles! Do you know what’s going on?”

 “H-hey, Mrs. Gobey.” Stiles chatters, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s a fire.”

 “Oh no!” the old women cries, clutching her blanket closer to herself. “Whose apartment?”

 Stiles scratches at his arms absently, chewing on his lip. “Um, well...mine.”

 “ _Yours?_ ”

 “I—yeah. I was trying to make cookies. It’s really not a big deal.”

 “This is your fault?”

 Stiles turns to pout at the growly tenant and just ends up gaping. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the dude before. He actually hasn’t _stopped_ seeing the dude. He’d moved in across the hall almost a month ago, and Stiles had literally ran into him, knocking down what must’ve been some pretty vital belongings considering the look he’d gotten told Stiles to run or be disemboweled. So he’d ran. Duh.

 Then he’d been in basketball shorts and a tanktop. Now, he’s just in boxer briefs. Stiles brain shorts out a second time in as many seconds and he ends up just sort of flapping his mouth soundlessly.

 The new guy raises his eyebrows, mouth set in an angry line as he jerks his head to reiterate he’s waiting for an answer. Stiles babbles for a few minutes before managing to get out “Cookies!”

 “You burnt up your apartment for _cookies?_ ”

 “I really wanted cookies.” Stiles mumbles uncomfortably.

 New guy works his jaw in an impressively angry manner.

 The firemen are still scouting the place out. Stiles knows it couldn’t have been that bad—it was just _cookies_ , for Christ’s sake—but they don’t seem to be ready to leave any time soon. So he bounces a little more for warmth and forces himself to hold his shoulders straight. “Look, it wasn’t like I _purposely_ set my stove on fire, okay? It’s a piece of crap, I’m a college student, this shit _happens_.”

 “You could’ve seriously hurt someone.” he snarls.

 “Next time I’ll make sure to triple check who’s in the building before _making myself food_.” Stiles snaps back. “Jesus Christ, get a grip, dude. I didn’t mean to do it. The chances of anyone’s place but mine being wrecked is close to zero.”

 “But it _isn’t_ zero.”

 Stiles hands clench into fists. “Listen, douchebag, I didn’t mean to fucking do it, okay? I’m _sorry_.”

 The guy looks ready to throttle him but the firefighters shout an all clear and instead of saying anything he just turns and stalks back into the building. Stiles gets stopped on his way in and is told, in no uncertain terms, that his apartment is unsuitable to be in until it’s fixed. Stiles sighs heavily, mutters his thanks, and goes up to collect his things.

 It’s pretty clear they weren’t lying when he gets to his floor. The door is hanging valiantly by one hinge. The carpets are _soaked_ —he shudders to think about Vanessa and Thomas’s ceiling—as are the walls in the kitchen. The stove is dead, its blackened husk a monument to Stiles’ shitty evening. It’s even hanging open to show him the soggy ashes of the cookies he’d been so confident about.

 He squishes his toes into the wet carpet as he considers the mess in front of him. He can’t sleep here. Mess aside, the place smells like smoke and there’s no way _that’s_ not all over his stuff. If it was just a wet carpet, Stiles would slosh through to his room and pass out. But his sheets will undoubtedly be just as awful smelling as the rest of the apartment is. He heaves a sigh, looking at the puddle around his feet. “Could just become an amphibian, I guess.” he muses.

 “Do you need a place to stay?”

 Stiles jumps. He turns to look at his hall neighbor, who looks defeated in every way. Like he’s the one who’s apartment was ruined, plus he didn’t even get cookies. There’s a shadow under his eyes, something resigned that Stiles can actually relate to. Stiles shrugs, squishing his toes into the carpet a little more. “I would appreciate it.”

 He jerks his head towards his own door, and Stiles wades out of his apartment and into the hall. The guy is prepared, handing him a towel the moment he’s off wet carpet and wrestling the door partway shut. “So the smell doesn’t go through the whole damn building anymore than it already has.” he explains with a grunt.

 “Oh. Good idea. Thanks.”

 “My name’s Derek, by the way.” he says as he pushes open his door. Stiles hobbles after him with the towel around one foot.

 “I’m Stiles. I don’t usually do this kind of stuff. I know you’re new, so it’s probably a huge pain in the ass to have to deal with this, but seriously, this is the first time something like this has happened. Unless you count that time Kelly left the bathtub running, which…” Stiles lets out a low whistle. “Not pretty.”

 “Kelly’s the pink haired girl, right? With the four earrings and the septum?”

 “Yep, that’s her.”

 “She seems like the type.”

 “And do I seem like the type to set my cookies on fire?” Stiles counters, then winces. “Don’t answer that.”

 Derek smirks, working around the tiny kitchenette. “You want coffee?”

 “No, I’m good, thanks. And thanks for letting me stay over. I’ll just crash here tonight and figure everything out tomorrow.”

 “I figured I owed you after tearing into you in the parking lot.” Derek admits, handing off a glass of water Stiles hadn’t asked for but realizes he desperately wants. “That was a little unfair of me. I don’t handle crisis well.”

 “Fair enough.” Stiles gulps half the water in one go before setting it aside. “So, uh, extra blankets maybe?”

 Derek nods and disappears towards the back of the apartment. He comes back with two heavy comforters and a pillow, and Stiles kinds of melts. “Dude, you _read my mind_.” Stiles sighs, taking them from him. “Fucking love comforters. They’re just…”

 “Comforting?” Derek offers.

 Stiles sends him the most unimpressed glare he can possibly muster before turning away.

***

 Three weeks later, Stiles is sprawled across the couch, Derek sitting under his legs. They’re watching something—Stiles had thrown on the TV to a random channel when he got back from work—and just sort of _being_ around each other. Then, Derek says “I’m going to make you pay rent if you stay any longer.”

 “I’ve grown on you, don’t lie.” Stiles teases.

 “Like some sort of suspicious mole.” Derek agrees.

 Stiles sighs and swings his head around to look at him. “You’re not wrong, though. I feel shitty staying here so long. It’s just…after Scott took off for that year abroad, I didn’t have a place to go that was close enough to work.” Stiles pauses, looking for some sort of good news he can offers. “Landlord said my place should be up and functional in a week or so.”

 “He said that last week.”

 “Well, one of these weeks, he’ll be telling the truth.”

 Derek snorts, sinking into the couch. “I wasn’t serious, Stiles. I don’t mind you staying here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been a fucking free-loader.”

 “You bought all of the groceries last week.” Derek points out. “And bought that lamp.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “That’s because you’re a goddamn vampire. Some of us need to have light to see.”

 “Hmm. Freaks, the lot of you.” Stiles laughs and kicks him. Derek doesn’t even flinch. “I do have to go out of town this weekend, though. Think you’ll be okay by yourself?”

 “I’m a squatter, not a fourteen-year-old.”

 Derek pinches his leg until Stiles yelps. “Fine. Just don’t burn the place down, okay? And you can take the bed if you want. Since I won’t be here.”

 “Cool.”

 Stiles doesn’t think anything of it up until he comes home and Derek isn’t there. Derek doesn’t seem to have a job, though he doesn’t seem to have a problem paying his bills either. He’s there whenever Stiles is, it seems. Like he just never leaves the house. Stiles doesn’t bring it up, because if it weren’t for work and the occasional Scott visit, he probably wouldn’t leave the house either.

 So it’s weird when he bursts into the apartment and instead of sassy eyebrows and a judgmental frown greeting him, it’s absolute silence. He pauses in the door just to take it all in, to have a moment to register what this place sounds like _empty_. Then he slams the door and skids down the hallway to the bedroom.

 He’s never actually been inside it. He’s _seen_ inside of it—Derek doesn’t keep his door closed or anything—but stepping foot inside had seemed forbidden. Now, though, he takes a flying leap onto the mattress, giggling as he crashes down and tangles himself in the comforter. The urge to text Derek and tell him about the affair his bed is about to have rises the longer he rolls in it, but he comes to the sudden realization that he doesn’t actually have Derek’s number. This leads to the realization that Stiles doesn’t actually _know_ Derek.

 He sits up and lifts up one finger. “First name,” he mutter. Another finger. “Address,” A third finger. “Hates mini corndogs.” He lifts a fourth finger, but nothing comes. He looks around the room for hints, but it’s…it’s empty, actually. Now that Stiles thinks about it, most of the apartment is empty. There’s a couch, a table, some chairs, and the bed. Stiles had always thought he just hadn’t settled in yet, and admittedly it could still be true. Not everyone claims their space by covering it in posters or pictures or books.

 Stiles pacifies himself with the idea that maybe Derek’s gone this weekend to go get some of his old stuff. He doesn’t know where he moved from, but it seems fair to assume it was a ways away as he’d heard Derek praising the timid California weather. With that idea in mind, Stiles lets the whole issue go and rolls himself into a burrito.

***

 Derek doesn’t come home with more stuff and Stiles’ apartment has mold. Because of this, the entire building has to evacuate. Stiles’ stuff already being packed, he sets out to help Derek and instead ends up pacing the floors while Derek packs essentials.

 “Like how the fuck do they expect an entire building of people to find somewhere new to live? _Honestly!_ The least they could do is _pay_ for like a goddamn hotel or something, you know? And what the fuck do you think Vanessa and Tommy are supposed to do? She a single mother, she doesn’t have the resources to find a whole new place to live!”

 “They’re staying with her parents.” Derek tells him. “She’s going to try and work things out with them.”

 Stiles blinks at him. “Oh. Well, okay, then I guess…huh.”

 “Do you really not have another place to go?”

 “My dad lives up north and Scott—well, you know. Japan and whatever. I mean, I’m not broke, I can put myself up in a motel for a couple of days until I find something a little more permanent. It’s just going to be a lot of mac’n’cheese while I do.”

 “You could stay with me.”

 “I don’t know if you missed the memo or not, but we’re sort of being _kicked out_.”

 “At my other place, genius.” Derek huffs.

 Stiles gapes for a moment. “You have _two_ apartments.”

 Derek’s ears turn a little pink and he packs in silence for a moment before muttering “No.”

 Stiles frowns. “Then, what other—”

 “I have a house.” Derek grunts.

 “You bought a house? Dude, why the hell would you still stay here?”

 “I—I actually had the house first.” Derek admits, zipping his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “It’s—the apartment was sort of a…an office, actually.”

 “An _office?_ Then why have you been staying here?”

 “Because you have.”

 “Dude!” Stiles squeaks. “Why does—I wasn’t gonna burn your stuff up or anything, I swear! The whole mess in my apartment was just bad luck. You totally could’ve just thrown me onto the couch or—”

 “It’s not that I didn’t trust you in the apartment alone, Stiles.” Derek sighs. “I wanted—staying here with you…it was…nice.”

 Stiles’ jaw is hanging open unattractively, for sure, but he can’t bring himself to close it while the wheels in his brain connect and turn. “You liked living with me?”

 Derek shrugs.

 “Oh.” Stiles manages to get his mouth closed, pondering over the information. “So you…you enjoy voluntarily spending your time with me.”

 Derek rolls his eyes, bringing something familiar to the table. “Yes, Stiles.”

 “And you aren’t some weird minimalist decorator?”

 Derek’s lip twitches up. “Probably more minimalist than you, but no. This space wasn’t intended to be a permanent residence for me. I only brought in essentials.”

 “So…I guess…I guess that means you must like me? A little bit?”

 The silence drags on for hardly ten seconds, but it feels like a goddamn eternity. And then Derek’s nodding. “Yeah. A little bit.”

 “So could I, like…kiss you, or? I mean, it’s cool. Liking me and _liking_ me are obviously two different things and, hey, we’ve only known each other a few weeks and stuff but it’s like—I mean, I moved in with you our first night together, you know, so maybe it’s just sort of—”

 Derek does a very effective job of shutting him up with his mouth. And even though a lot of things change after that—for example, Stiles finding out Derek’s a house-flipper and apparently _insanely rich_ and loves scary movies and is sort of an expert blow job giver—the way Stiles smiles when they kiss does not.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://notthepainlessmoustache.tumblr.com/)


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